


is this how it ends?

by fen-ha-fuck-you (abldav)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Clarke Stan Bellamy Blake, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Sad Bellamy, Sort Of, WE all know clarke's not dead, but BELLAMY DOESN'T KNOW THAT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 20:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19236907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abldav/pseuds/fen-ha-fuck-you
Summary: They put him down and chained him to the floor, and all he wanted to do was scream. To turn his head from the salt in the wound that was the painting he had no choice but to stare up at.Josephine,he recognized immediately. Not from the pictures scattered around Sanctum. Not from the vague stories that Russell had told. No.That smirk would haunt him for the rest of his life.a.k.a. some inner monologue from one (1) grief-stricken bellamy because I exist for Angst™ only





	is this how it ends?

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers for the entirety of season 6 up until 6x06 (although if you aren't watching season 6 what are you doing, it's incredible. also watch it before reading this for the Best Impact)
> 
> title from [glass heart by sam tinnesz](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9O1z99u465U)
> 
> unbetaed because i'm posting this at 5am

Bellamy didn’t bother taking note of where the guards had been carrying him. It’s not like he could see much anyway, what with the steady stream of tears filling his eyes and running down his cheeks. 

 

Eventually, though, they put him down and chained him to the floor, and all he wanted to do was scream. To turn his head from the salt in the wound that was the painting he had no choice but to stare up at. 

 

_ Josephine _ , he recognized immediately. Not from the pictures scattered around Sanctum. Not from the vague stories that Russell had told. No. 

 

That smirk would haunt him for the rest of his life.

 

That smirk on  _ her _ face.  _ Clarke’s _ face. 

 

The first thing he did when he regained control of his body was put his fist straight through the middle of that fucking painting and rip the mouth right off of the psychopath who’d stolen Clarke’s body. Who’d  _ killed _ her without even a hint of remorse. 

 

It wasn’t enough. 

 

He didn’t remember what he did next. It was all a blur of splintered wood and glass, tears and screams, all tinged red around the edges. 

 

When he’d come back into himself, he was exhausted. His throat was hoarse, and he was sitting in the middle of the ruins of whatever this part of the room had been. 

 

He didn’t care enough to wonder. He didn’t care enough to find a weapon. He didn’t care enough to try to escape. Why should he? What was the point?

 

They killed her.

 

They killed her, and he wasn’t there to protect her.

 

_ Again _ .

 

They killed her, and she was alone.

 

_ Again. _

 

They killed her, and she would never know what she means to him. 

 

_ Again. _

 

How many opportunities did he miss? How many moments did he stay quiet? How many apologies had gone unsaid?

 

He’d watched as their friends tore into her and blamed her for everything, and what if that’s what she’d taken with her? That no one cared. 

 

Did she wonder if someone had noticed she was gone? Was she waiting for someone, just this once, for  _ anyone _ to save  _ her _ instead of the other way around? How many times had they failed her?

 

How many times had  _ he _ failed her? 

 

His chest was hollow. His hands were numb. His head was fuzzy. 

 

His heart was burning. 

 

He kept thinking about what Clarke would do next. What she would want  _ him _ to do. But the only thing that came to mind was a long-destroyed lab and a rocket called  _ Vesta. _

 

Roman goddess of the hearth. Home.  _ Family _ . 

 

_ “You’re my family, too. I lost sight of that. But I promise I will never forget it again. You’re too important to me.” _

 

_ “No more amends today,” _ he’d said, after pulling away from her for the last time. After telling her that his lantern would never float with the weight of all his sins. With the weight of using Madi against her wishes. The weight of poisoning Octavia to save her. The weight of leaving her behind. 

 

_ And you’re mine, _ he should’ve said.  _ I’d do anything for you. I’d kill for you. I’d live for you. I already have. _

 

But that was when she’d asked him to. When she looked him in the eyes and said, “no matter what happens to me, you save our friends.” So he’d fought against his every instinct, and he’d left her there to die because those were the lengths he was willing to go for her. To respect her wishes, even when it meant leaving a piece of his own soul to burn with her.

 

This was different.

 

The last time he saw her she’d been happy. She was on the dance floor with that doctor that’d helped Murphy. She was spinning and sparkling, and Bellamy couldn’t look away even if he’d wanted to. 

 

She was always beautiful, that was nothing new. But that night she’d taken his breath away. It wasn’t the dress, as gorgeous as it had looked on her. It wasn’t the lights, making her glow like those butterflies back on Earth. 

 

It was the glint in her eye. The smile on her face. The lightness he saw in her for the first time since Unity Day, all those years ago. 

 

It was hypnotizing.  _ She _ was hypnotizing.

 

It had hit him like a ton of bricks, and as much as he wished it was him she was dancing with instead, he couldn’t bring himself to interfere. He didn’t want to break the spell that was her happiness in that moment. Didn’t want to stand as a reminder of all the things they’d done to survive when she was finally,  _ finally, _ smiling with the light of both suns combined.

 

The last time he’d seen her had been that moment, he was sure of it now. As much effort as Josephine had put into trying to fool them all, she could never hope to match the torrential, boundless hurricane that was Clarke Griffin.

 

_ “It kept me sane.” _

 

The memory of her voice hit him, unbidden. Her vulnerability. The stark contrast of who she was as a leader, and who she let herself be around him. His utter disbelief. 

 

He’d made a joke with his heart in his throat because every other part of him was stunned to the point of paralyzation. She’d smiled at him—that huge, radiant smile—and he knew he must’ve looked like a lovestruck fool. Maybe he was. 

 

Then she walked away, and he didn’t stop her. Even though he had more to say.

 

_ You did the same for me, _ he should’ve said.  _ Making sure you didn’t die in vain was the only thing that kept me going. That got me through to the next day. I left my heart on Earth with you. _

 

Right now, it felt like his heart was the only thing left of him, and even that was quickly withering away. 

 

All he could feel now was pain. Pain, and all-encompassing fury. 

 

Fury at fate for the sick joke that was gifting her back to him before yanking her away again. Fury at the universe for making it impossible to be better and be happy at the same time. Fury at the body-snatchers that were the leaders of this screwed up cult for having the audacity to not even give her the chance to try. Fury at his friends for making her think she didn’t deserve it.

 

Because she did. More than anyone, she did. 

 

He’d been there as she’d made all these decisions they still blamed her for. He’d seen her exhaust every other option. He’d seen her beg their enemies to  _ please _ come to some sort of compromise. He’d seen everything fall to pieces, and Clarke pull herself apart to mend them. 

 

She’d escaped the inescapable and adapted to the unadaptable. She’d made impossible decisions from the beginning, and she’d never complained or asked for recognition. She’d taken the burden from him more times than he could count, and he could only hope he’d been able to do the same for her. 

 

Witnessing a declaration of,  _ “She is,” _ wasn’t enough, he thought. It wasn’t nearly enough to express to her just how important she is. How much she means to him. How empty and meaningless his life feels without her.

 

_ “I don’t need you anymore,” _ he’d said, the poison of the Red Sun coursing through his airway. 

 

_ I did, _ he should’ve said after.  _ I do. _

**Author's Note:**

> me, emerging after a six month writing hiatus with a short, angsty one-shot? it's more likely than you think. i cried writing this and i hope you cried reading it
> 
> come say hi on tumblr [@fen-ha-fuck-you](https://fen-ha-fuck-you.tumblr.com/) if you want (and look at all the sad!bellamy gifsets)  
> comments feed the crumbs


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